Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (93 page)

After straightening his hair away from his face, he pushed himself off the bed, then turned to make it, but stopped when he caught Virgin
’s eyes open and watching him intently.

“Virgin?” he asked, unsure whether or not his companion was actually awake.

“Hmm?” the older Halfling asked.

“I thought…”

“You thought… what?” Virgin pushed himself upright and ran a hand over his face. “Oh. That I was sleeping with my eyes open.”

“Yeah.”

“Did your father used to do that?”

“Sometimes,” Odin sighed, turning his attention to the window. “Did we sleep in?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just bright.”

It usually isn
’t,
he thought.

Preferring to keep his mouth shut,
Odin went about cleaning the room as best as he could—first by taking his and Virgin’s boots and placing them near the door, then by making his half of the bed. When Virgin made no move to rise, Odin shrugged, straightened the blanket out over his companion’s shoulders, then turned and made his way toward the door, stopping in midstride when the older Halfling cleared his throat as if to say something.

“Something wrong?” Odin asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Virgin replied. “I think I’m going to stay in bed a little while longer.”

“That
’s fine.”

After making sure Virgin had nothing more to say, Odin let himself out of the room, closed the door behind him, then cleared the distance the hall offered and made his way toward the kitchen table—where, poised and reading a book, his fathe
r sat, a pair of eyeglasses on the end of his nose and a cup of steaming tea set before him.

“Good morning,” Ectris said.

“Morning.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

“A lot better,” he said, only to grimace shortly thereafter. When his father offered him an unsure look, Odin shook his head and settled down in the chair opposite him. “Sorry I’m up so late.”

“I only just got up myself, son.”

“Oh.” Odin paused. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You want a cup of tea?”

“I guess.”

Ectris stood and made his way into the kitchen, where he lifted the steaming pot of tea and filled a cup with it before he returned to the table. Still diluted by sleep, Odin took it in both hands and sipped it carefully before looking about
the room to try and decide what it was he would help his father do first.

“Is there anything in particular you want help with?” he asked, taking another sip of his tea.

“Not particularly. Why?”

“I was planning on helping you with the chores—at least, if you still wanted it, anyway.”

“To be honest, Odin, there isn’t much to do.” Ectris pondered over his book for one final moment before he set it down atop the table. “Oh. I almost forgot.”

“What?”

“Would you like to see Gainea?”

“I can
’t believe I didn’t remember,” Odin sighed, pressing a hand to his brow.

“You
’re welcome to take her with you if you like. She may be old, but she’s still as stubborn as she used to be. You were the only one who could ever handle her without getting smacked or kicked around.”

“She hasn
’t hurt you, has she?”

“Oh no. She just doesn
’t let me anywhere near her, which is why I have to resort to bribery to tend to her.”

“I
’d love to see her when you have a moment,” Odin smiled, turning his attention to the distant kitchen window—where, just beyond the yard, the stable could be seen, completely covered in snow but otherwise visible. “I’m not sure if I should take her though, if you want to know the truth.”

“She
’s just as good a horse as she was when you were a boy.”

“I know, but—“

“She misses you, Odin.”

She missed you.

The thought alone was enough to make him shiver.

“How could I have abandoned her for all these years,” Odin sighed.

“You’ve had a lot on your plate, especially with… well…”

“I know, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. I’m your father, not your king.”

“Yes suh… I mean father.”

A smile perked Ectris’ lips into fine, twin-tailed hearts as he rose and made his way to the door, where he donned his coat and gestured Odin to rise. “Wear my other pair of boots,” he said. “They may be a little big for you, but at least you won’t have to bother your friend.”

They approached the stables slowly and with deliberate pursuit through the snow that had accumulated over the past few days. The ground stable but pockmarked with holes, much like Odin remembered from his childhood and the days in which he routinely exercised Gainea, he shifted from side to side in an attempt to find solid ground and finally located it directly behind his father, whom, shortly thereafter, stepped forward and pressed a hand to the twin doors that made up the stable’s front entrance.

“Well,” Ectris said, casting a glance over his shoulder to regard Odin with soft yet calm eyes. “Here we are. I just want to warn you before I open the door—she
’s been acting real skittish lately and might not recognize you. Hell—she might even try to kick you if her behavior holds true.”

“That
’s all right,” Odin said. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

“I
’m not,” his father said. “I just worry for your safety.”

Of course,
Odin thought.

He didn
’t need to be told twice.

Reaching forward, Ectris took hold of the wooden block that secured the twin doors and lifted it out of place, careful to drudge a path in the snow so he could open the door.

As they entered, Odin immediately sought out the stall where Gainea was usually held.

He found her no mor
e than a few short moments when he entered after his father.

Age, as it did with all things, had affected her tremendously. In her youth some four, nearly five years ago, she
’d been a crowning champion upon which any knights would have been proud to ride. Tall, at almost seven-and-a-half-feet, with a coat of dark fur that marked her as a shadow even in the lightest of places and a dark mane that fell over her neck and rested atop her shoulder—she was, in all respects, a purebred creature, one of whom his father had secured in the months before his own birth from a neighbor whose mare had been pregnant with twins. The first of the pair had died due to complications—a placenta, Ectris had said, that had suffocated it during labor. Gainea herself had been born shortly thereafter and had, despite the fate of her companion, pushed forward, which was a feat Odin had always treasured even as a little boy looking upon her from his place beneath her impressive height. Now, though, he could easily see how the world had changed her—how, over the years, the fur under her eyes had lightened to a dark grey and how, at the root of her skull, the hair had begun to lighten. Even her ribcage, which had once been covered with fat, now lay visible upon her chest, displaying a trait Odin found frightening yet somehow practical due to her age.

“She
’s,” Odin said, then stopped before he could continue.

Gainea stepped from the shadows at the sound of his voice.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, extending a hand toward her snout. “Gainea?”

The horse snorted and cast her head to the side, flipping her mane over her neck.

“Careful,” Ectris warned.

“It
’s fine,” Odin said, pushing his hand forward. “Don’t worry, Father—she remembers me.”

“You don
’t—“

Before Ectris could finish, Gainea pushed her snout into Odin
’s hand and grunted.

Smiling, almost unable to believe that they had been reunited after so many long, hard years, Odin leaned forward, wrapped his arms around the horse
’s neck, then bowed his head into the side of her face, breathing in her sweet, musky scent and running his fingers through her silky mane.

“You
’re so beautiful,” he whispered, drawing away to look into her dark eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

At the thought that he
’d left her in Elna for so long, tears sprung from his eyes and created rivers on his face. As if sensing his distress, the horse extended her head and pushed her snout into his shoulder, not only enticing a laugh from Odin, but a slight sob.

“It
’s all right,” Ectris said, pressing his hands atop Odin’s shoulders. “She’s doing just fine.”

“I can
’t take her with me. Not like this.”

“If you don
’t believe she’s able to ride, then so be it. I’ll keep her here with me.”

“I don
’t want to leave her behind.”

“Sometimes we have to let things go, Odin. You as well as I should know that.”

Do I?
he thought.
Or am I just chasing false hopes?

Gainea snorted, almost as if sensing his
thoughts.

Laughing, Odin reached up, wiped the tears from his eyes, then turned to face his adoptive father. It took but a moment of looking into his eyes to see the care and compassion they held before he fell into his arms.

“Thank you for taking such good care of her,” Odin said. “Really, Father—you don’t know how much it means to me.”

“I think I do,” Ectris said, clapping Odin
’s shoulder blades. “Would you like to ride with me?”

Odin looked up and found his father
’s horse standing in the stall opposite e Gainea, chewing on what appeared to be hay.

“I would,” Odin said. “I
’d like that.”

“There’s no way I convince you to move to Ornala with me?” Odin asked, allowing his father to lead the way through the forest and along the trail that led to the rocky areas of the forest, those of which Odin couldn’t help but remember were predominantly preoccupied by bears and other wild creatures.

“I
’ve already told you, Odin—I’m not leaving.”

“What if they come back?”

“You mean the men from Denyon?”

“Yes.”

“There’s more than enough able-bodied hands to defend our village.”

“You don
’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

Rather than say anything, Odin quickened Gainea’s pace and drew closer to his father—whom, upon noticing their distance, slowed his horse. It took only a few moments for them to regain their pace.

You
’re as stubborn as ever,
Odin thought, sighing, reaching as the overhead sun peeked out from behind a series of grey-white clouds.

While he knew in his heart that he could do nothing to force an opinion within his father
’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not he would come with enough ample convincing. It seemed any man could be forced to do anything once badgered and forced enough, and for that it seemed his adoptive father might very well come. That, however, seemed completely out of the realm of possibility, as he’d always known his father to be an arrogant if somewhat-ignorant man.

Instead of voicing his thoughts for fear of causing a fight, he reached out to brace his hand along his father
’s shoulder and frowned when the older man tensed upon the touch.

“Father?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not used to being touched, Odin.”

“Haven
’t you found a woman?”

“There are no single women in
Felnon. What’re you getting at?”

“That
’s not true.”

“All the women I could court are either much too young or widowed. Besides—I don
’t need anyone.”

“Everyone needs someone, Father.”

Ectris didn’t respond.

All right. That wasn
’t the best idea.

Growing up, he
’d never really questioned the idea of whether or not his father was lonely. He had always assumed that because of his presence, his father had not a shroud of loneliness in his heart, as their time spent together seemed unlike anything else in the world. It could not, he once thought, compare to having a mother, or perhaps even just a simple tryst in which there was no affairs of the heart, as the bond between a father and his son was so strong that nothing in the world could possibly break it, save death. To think that now, after such a long time, that he’d had such thoughts made him realize just how childish he’d been while growing up.

“We were one in the same,” Odin decided to say, only looking up when his father turned his head to look at him.

“Sorry?”

“You never had anyone. I never had any friends. We
’re not that different from each other when you really think about it.”